


The Bake Off Final Problem

by EmmyAngua



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Baking, Competition-Set Fic, M/M, Reality TV, The Great British Bake Off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:12:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2389511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyAngua/pseuds/EmmyAngua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is one of the judges on the Great British Bake Off, but this year it’s all going wrong. Mrs. Hudson – his fellow judge - is quitting, someone is trying to sabotage the Baked Alaska final, and all he wants some alone time with contestant John Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started my relationship with Sherlock/Reality TV AUs with a Come Dine With Me fic back when S1 was still airing. I still haven’t learned my lesson. 
> 
> For those not familiar with the Great British Bake Off… a bunch of amateur bakers spend twelve weeks competitively baking in a tent in a field. There is no prize for winning. It gets millions of viewers every week. You don’t need to watch it to understand this fic.

There comes a time during every showstopper challenge when the judges have nothing to do. Their walkabout to quiz the bakers on their creations is over, and so with twenty minutes left on the clock Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson are relegated to the side of the tent. No one pays them any attention: the bakers are rushing to finish and the cameras are straining to catch every drop of sweat on their brows.

 

Janine and Mary, the presenters, try to offer support but are mostly joking around and getting in the way of the five stressed people whose wedding cakes are at critical stages. Mary is giving Greg encouragement as his tower of cake wobbles and Janine, briefly at a loose end, wanders over to Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson to retrieve her water bottle and take a quick break.

 

"Soo..." she sits herself on the table between them and covers her mic with her hand, "which one of them is the most shaggable?"

 

Mrs. Hudson swats her playfully.

 

"You'll get us into trouble talking like that in here. Oooh but I do like John. Reminds me of my husband.”

 

Sherlock and Janine look at her incredulously. Mrs. Hudson's husband is an actor, renowned for his hardman roles. Someone less like John is impossible to imagine.

 

“Mary fancies John too,” Janine says, having given up on making sense of Mrs. Hudson’s answer. “Sherlock? And yes, you _do_ have to play.”

 

Her look of studied indifference to his answer couldn’t be more obvious. After three series working together she (and, it seems, most of the viewing public) is still gagging to pin down his sexuality.

 

His temporary saviour comes in the form of Jim Moriarty, who is suddenly in front of them and wearing his ever-present baseball cap. The smile he directs at Janine is irritated.

 

“Have you forgotten which side of the camera you should be standing on Janine?”

 

"I was just getting a drink.” She sticks out her tongue. “And gossiping. Sherlock was about to tell us which contestant he wants to smother in chocolate ganache."

 

Sherlock rolls his eyes, quick to end the conversation. "I’ll join the queue for John Watson’s attentions, shall I? Far be it from me to go against popular opinion."

 

“Not Sally?” Janine asks, pretending to be surprised. “But you two get on so well! You could tell that her bread has the consistency of Playdough again and this time it would end with sweaty hate-sex and flour in strange places.”

 

Sherlock’s not quite sure what’s so funny about his reaction but it almost causes Mrs. Hudson to slide off her chair laughing.

 

A shriek comes from the other side of the tent and Jim jerks his head to the clouds of icing sugar rising from one of the benches.

 

"Soo Lin's just dropped her bowl," he says. "Go and pet her hair or something."

 

Janine hops down to go to the aid of Soo Lin but she turns to leave them with a final thought.

 

"Personally I want a big bed with room for Greg to knead my baps and for Sally to lick my-"

 

Three groans drown her out and then she’s lost one more in the chaos of baking and filming.

 

 

\--

 

 

The problem Sherlock has in the weeks between filming is that he keeps thinking about John.

 

He spends the days he isn't caught up in the whirlwind of the Bake Off production in his kitchen at 221b, his artisanal bakery on Baker Street. 221b made the cake for the Royal Wedding and provided the White House staff with donuts on the President’s last visit. The shop looks after itself (well, his brother insists Anthea looks after the shop) so he is left to spend hours alone experimenting.

 

Which, unfortunately, gives him plenty of time to think about John.

 

_What would John say about this recipe?_

_Does John like blueberries? (He hasn't used any in the challenge yet.)_

_What flavours would John use in this bread?_

 

It's annoying. The man is an excellent baker but by no means the most consistent (Greg) or the most technically skilled (Molly). Yet his opinion is the one Sherlock craves.

 

It started with the first technical challenge of the series. It was Sherlock's recipe (Cornish Pasties) and John's version was... it wasn't made the way Sherlock wanted it made, and it wasn't faultless, but it was... interesting. John somehow made a boring recipe interesting.

 

It annoys him that he can't quite put his finger on _why._

 

He remembers praising the pasty, scanning his eyes over the faces of the contestants to work out which one of them made it. When John awkwardly raised his hand when the winner was announced, Sherlock had to stop himself just... _staring_ at the man.

 

Mrs. Hudson has even commented on his behaviour.

 

“Sherlock dear… do try to remember that _you_ are the judge,” she said in her last phone call. “Because when you get to John’s bench and he starts explaining his method, you look a little bit like you want to get out a notebook and write down his advice.”

 

He’d brushed off her comments but he knows he’s on dangerous territory. It’s hard to be a judge when he’s constantly wondering what John would think of his bakes. John’s never tried anything made by Sherlock and Sherlock finds himself imagining what would happen if John was here in 221b. He’d let John try anything, any cake or pastry that caught his eye. John’s a sensual baker, constantly tasting and testing, and it’s all about the feel of the bakes in his mouth. The idea of John being here, watching his mouth working, and the fantasy of him being delighted with everything is enough to distract Sherlock completely.

 

It’s ridiculous. It’s not like he’s even spoken to John outside the contest. It’s against the rules and while they do spend every weekend staying in the same hotel, the judges and the contestants keep apart.

 

Of course, that’s the theory. Sometimes life isn’t that simple: which is a lesson he learns when he arrives at his hotel room door the next week. He takes out his key and is just about to go inside when the door opposite opens and John’s head pokes out.

 

“Hi- oh!”

 

He stops short upon seeing Sherlock. For Sherlock’s part he stands there blinking foolishly at the man.

 

“Sorry, I was hoping you were Molly,” John says.

 

John takes Sherlock’s lack of reaction for an accusation.

 

“No! Nothing like that. She just - she promised to lend me an obscure book she found on sugar work, which is, uh, not my strongest area. As you know. I’d have thought they’d have put you in a better sort of room from us mere contestants.”

 

Sherlock finds his voice again. “No. Apparently the BBC are stingy about these things. If I’d have known that when Mrs. Hudson talked me into this series three years ago I’d have saved myself a great deal of time in appalling hotel rooms.”

 

John smiles, but further comment is cut off by Janine who strides towards them wheeling an enormous suitcase.

 

“Hello boys,” she calls. “Sherlock, you gorgeous creature, you aren’t meant to be fraternising with the enemy.”

 

She kisses him on the cheek, which she knows he loathes, and goes to her own door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! But if you do, keep it quiet. I need my beauty sleep.”

 

 

\--

 

The next day goes exactly as every Saturday goes in the competition. Filming begins, there’s a great deal of hanging around, and then finally the signature challenge starts. This week it’s tarts and Sherlock makes sure to be extra severe about John’s Jam Tarts because it stops gossips like Mrs. Hudson and reminds him that John is nothing more to him than a contestant.

 

Unfortunately when they are baked they are simple but exquisitely made.

 

“Extraordinary,” he blurts, before his brain can catch up. John looks astonished at the praise and they leave him grinning to himself before moving on to Greg’s solid but boring effort. Feeling out of sorts he goes to town over Sally’s raw base and Molly’s runny jam is saved a mauling only by virtue of her perfect pastry.

 

There is a good deal of standing around again while the tent is set up for the technical bake and then Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson are sent away while the four remaining bakers tackle Mrs. Hudson’s Belgian Tart with only vague guidelines to follow.

 

They sit in the judging tent, film their short piece about the perfect Belgian Tart, and then they are left alone. He normally works on his laptop and Mrs. Hudson reads some awful romance book but today she looks out of sorts.

 

“Sherlock we need to… can we talk?”

 

For a brief second Sherlock thinks it’s going to be about John and his lack of professionalism. He just thinks John is talented and interesting, it’s not like he’s got a _crush_ or anything…

 

“Sherlock, Frank’s been offered a job.”

 

This is hardly exciting news. Frank Hudson is one of the busiest actors in the UK.

 

“He’s very excited. It’s that book series everyone been talking about… he’s playing a wizard or something… five films guaranteed and you know how desperate he’s been to branch out and get some real recognition.”

 

“Congratulations,” Sherlock says blankly.

 

“Sherlock… the job’s in New Zealand and, well, this show was only meant to be a bit of fun for me. I’ve told them that this is going to be my last series.”

 

Sherlock’s first thought is ‘ _how did I miss this_?’ Mrs. Hudson has always been an open book to him, only made interesting by the bizarre life story she carries around with her. She’s the reason he’s sitting here. She – a baking guru and dessert trend-setter back in the sixties – had been invited to be a judge and she’d begged him to join her on this mad venture. He’d agreed to please her (and to increase his work’s exposure while simultaneously pissing off Mycroft.)

 

Sherlock had loathed everything and everyone for the first half of series one. Mrs. Hudson’s excitement at actually being on television had been the only thing preventing him stalking away from the tent and never looking back.

 

And now… now the tent was the closest he came to having friends. For twelve weekends a year he was surrounded by people who either liked him, found him amusing, or at the very least acknowledged his expertise in the science of baking. Without Mrs. Hudson he’d still have a website no one visited and a bakery only dull people visited.

 

“I understand this show was never really what you wanted to do,” Mrs. Hudson continues, twisting her fingers on her lap. “And I appreciate that you’ve been a good sport for my sake, but now you can go back to 221b and things can be the way they were before.”

 

She stands and hugs him. He returns it weakly.

 

“What will happen to the show?” he asks.

 

Mrs. Hudson shrugs. “Oh I imagine they’ll try and keep it going. There’ll be judges to replace us.”

 

They are interrupted by one of the runners, calling them back for judging.

 

Sherlock’s mind isn’t on the task, which is a lengthier process that most people would expect. It’s supposedly a blind judging but normally he knows within seconds which baker has made what. Today he doesn’t even look at their faces.

 

The third tart is particularly awful: virtually raw and with leaking filling. His mood sinks even further as the creator of the disaster is revealed to be John.

 

“I expected more from you!” he snaps. “This is an unacceptable mess and you’re better than this.”

 

He looks at John’s face for the first time all day. His expression is a mixture of surprise at Sherlock’s outburst, anger at himself, and embarrassment.

 

The second the filming is finished Sherlock turns and leaves the tent to get back to his hotel.

 

\--

 

At three in the morning Sherlock is still awake, pacing his hotel room and silently raging. He cares nothing for the fame and he _loathes_ the publicity cycle, but he likes being a judge. He likes the creative mess of ideas and experiments – some disasters and some successful - that he sees every week.

 

Of course he could come back next year without Mrs. Hudson, but that would be tantamount to admitting his love for the show. Besides, he’s met other ‘celebrity’ bakers and none of them would work with him.

 

Now it’s as good as over. There is one more day of filming tomorrow and then it’s the final weekend next week…

 

John might not even make it. His signature challenge had been passable and his technical challenge awful. He’s going to have to work hard tomorrow to survive and wouldn’t that just be fitting? For the only truly interesting baker Sherlock’s ever met to be booted off before the last show he ever films.

 

If only he could talk to John. Find out why he’s so interesting, why Sherlock can’t stop thinking about him…

 

The thought stops him in his tracks.

 

If it’s the last series, then what to do rules about fraternisation really mean? If he wants to talk to John he can and will.

 

He goes throws open the hotel room door and –

 

Stops in his tracks as he comes face to face with Mary, frozen in place on the threshold of John’s room.

  
“Sherlock!” she says, her voice high pitched. “What are you doing?”

 

It’s a question he could very well throw back at her. He does.

 

“I was… getting some more nicotine patches. What are you doing?”

 

“We were just talking,” Mary says quickly. “There aren’t any rules against contestants and presenters…”

 

“ _Fraternising_?”

 

“Getting to know each other better.”

 

He forces a smile. “Of course not. Well, goodnight.”

 

He turns back into his room.

 

“What about the nicotine patches?” she asks.

 

Sherlock shakes his head. “Suddenly the craving is gone.”

 

 

\--

 

 

The beehive is presenting Sherlock with a problem.

 

He is sitting on the counter at 221b, fingers steepled, considering the solution. The beehive is sitting on the kitchen table, silently mocking him.

 

It’s the centrepiece for his window display. Or it least it will be if he can stop it collapsing the moment even the weakest sunlight shines upon it. His goal is for it to be a beehive made of honeycomb and sugar that’s so realistic he’ll have the pest control service turning up at his door in a panic. When the display is over it will be smashed open and honey will ooze out for wide-eyed tots to collect in little jars that will be provided for the stunt, and in turn their little expressions will be all over the video that will be posted on his website, shortly to go viral.

 

But that’s only if he can keep the bake together.

 

There’s a knock on the door. It’s Anthea, which is worrying because she only comes into the backroom to bother him if armed robbers, royalty, or his brother are on the premises.

 

Here’s hoping for armed robbers.

 

“Mr. Holmes? You have a visitor. From your little show.” Her voice drips with the disdain for Bake Off that Mycroft pays her to exhibit around Sherlock.

 

He relaxes and returns to the beehive problem. “Mrs. Hudson? Send her in.”

 

“Er, sorry… not Mrs. Hudson.”

 

Sherlock’s head snaps towards the door. It’s John.

 

John is briefly distracted by looking around the secretive 221b kitchen. It looks more like a laboratory than a bakery and he stares in fascination and Sherlock’s more unusual equipment. It gives Sherlock a chance to look John over: he’s dressed a little more formally than Sherlock is used to, in trousers rather than the well-fitting jeans he normally wears. He’s wearing a work lanyard and the moment he notices Sherlock’s scrutiny he looks uncomfortable under it.

 

“You’re not allowed to be here,” Sherlock says.

 

Only a lifetime of self-control stops him smashing his forehead onto the sticky table in embarrassment at that opening line.

 

“Er, sorry, that woman let me in-”

 

“No. Here. I’m not meant to talk to you outside the tent. Not that I care much for rules.”

 

John takes a step further into the room and crosses his arms in a way that suggests he’s about to get down to some unpleasant business.

 

“Yes. It was about that… Mary said you saw her coming out of my room last week.”

 

Sherlock jumps down off the counter and begins moving pans around rather erratically.

 

“It clearly didn’t hurt your performance. Your showstopper really was a marvel and you were very fortunate that Sally went a step too far with the rosewater. What is it with people trying to make food taste like soap? Anderson did it in the first show, with those lavender crackers, and now her-“

 

“I just want to clear up any misunderstanding,” John interrupts. “We’d just got talking in the bar and then when the bar closed we went to my room to carry on talking. Nothing untoward. And there’s no rule-“

 

“Why do you imagine I care?”  

 

“I don’t, I just… didn’t want you to think I was that sort of person. I try to take any romantic opportunity that comes my way, just in case, and so when I was talking to Mary I wanted to see where it went. But, uh, as it is I don’t think either of our hearts were really in it.” He huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.”

 

“So you’re not interested in Mary?”

 

It’s then, in the very moment those words have left Sherlock’s mouth that he realise two things: how much he needs to know the answer, and why he needs to know it.

 

After years of being completely uninterested in every man he’s met, he’s stumbled across John Watson and now he is _interested._ That’s why he’s been thinking about John and wanting to talk to John, and why he needs to know that Mary isn’t in the picture.

 

John doesn’t seem to notice that Sherlock’s question betrays his feelings, but John doesn’t seem to notice. Perhaps he thinks Sherlock’s interested in Mary.

 

“No, I’m not. Anyway, that’s not the only reason I came. I work thirty minutes away and I’ve never even been here… I thought it was something that needed to be put right.”

 

Sherlock stops himself from saying _‘I’ve been hoping you’d visit’_ and instead shrugs awkwardly at the mess on the table.

 

“Beehives are a problem at the moment.”

 

“I’ve noticed,” John smiles. “Is this where I get to judge you? _You’ve had a real seepage problem here… it’s a total disaster… this might cost you your place in the competition_.”

 

Sherlock’s mouth quirks. “It’s not unreasonable criticism. I’ve made chocolate eggs to store the honey, but the moment they get too warm-“

 

“-the honey leaks all over the floor.”

 

Sherlock shrugs. “Give it half an hour and you’ll see that it’s saturated the honeycomb too: the whole thing is going to collapse.”

 

“It’s a shame,” John says softly. “Because it’s an astonishing design. Why are you storing the honey in chocolate eggs, again?”

 

“Because everything else melted even faster or soaked up the honey… if I could find some way to protect the chocolate...”

 

Sherlock is deep in thought, but somehow John’s voice reaches him anyway.

 

“-like a giant Smartie shell.”

 

That’s it!

 

A candy shell! It’s perfect. It will be an extra layer of protection, and if he uses two shells, one internally and one externally, the honey should be safe from all but extreme heat.

 

“I knew it!” Sherlock crosses the room towards John and grips his shoulders. “I _knew_ if I could just talk it through with you the whole problem would be solved!”

 

He’s grinning down at John, half embracing him, and John is looking back, eyes glittering in a way that makes Sherlock wish that this was one of those romantic opportunities John habitually takes.

 

But it isn’t. After a moment they clear their throats and step apart. John mentions that his lunch hour is nearly over and that he’ll be late. Sherlock is trying to think of some way to ensure John will come back as soon as possible. _I have a flat upstairs. Come and have tea. Have dinner. Just exist in the same room as me for a little longer…_

“You’re welcome back anytime,” he says finally.

 

John smiles. “Well, until then, I’ll see you back in the tent.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock arrives at the hotel uncharacteristically early the next Friday. So early, in fact, that he has to wait for check-in to start. He dumps his suitcase in the room and heads back out to the communal area in the hope of running into John.

 

In his wandering he runs into virtually everyone else connected to the show. The other finalists arrive, Molly looking on edge and Greg plainly unwell. Sherlock is kissed on the cheek by Janine, with the threat of her joining him for dinner later. Mrs. Hudson embraces him tearily _(“Our last show… it doesn’t seem real, does it?”)_ and he literally bumps into Mary as she charges out of the bar, straight into Sherlock.

 

“Sorry!” she huffs. “I’d avoid the bar if I were you; Jim’s there and he’s in a _fine_ mood. Had a go at me because a favour I agreed to do for him didn’t work out.”

 

“What favour?” Sherlock asks.

 

“Oh it’s not important. I didn’t do it for _him_ anyway.”

 

She storms off, no doubt to find Janine and empty the contents of a minibar. Curious, Sherlock heads into the bar only to find Jim sitting at his laptop and looking entirely serene.

 

“Sherlock! Take a seat. It’s the end of an era, isn’t it?”

 

Sherlock orders a drink and sits. “I suppose so. Mary said you were angry.”

 

“Oh I was: _at her_.” Jim shrugs. “It doesn’t matter now, just a small snag. And I’m celebrating.”

 

“Celebrating what?”

 

Moriarty’s eyes glitter with private amusement. “Like I said, end of an era.”

 

 

\--

 

 

Saturday dawns and the three bleary eyed contestants are roused for filming at the ungodly hour of five am. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson get an extra hour but even then it’s a push to have everyone where they need to be in time for the signature challenge to begin.

 

Sherlock is professional enough not to pay an unusual amount of attention to John. He has to judge all three of them, and he can see the exhaustion on all of their faces. Molly has covered most of her bench in post-it reminders and laminated to-do lists. Greg has a heavy cold; he’s already on his third honey and lemon drink of the morning, bemoaning his lack of smell and taste to the cameras.

 

John looks tense but battle-ready. He’s clearly irritated by the build-up of filming and is desperate for the competition to actually get underway.

 

At length, Mary and Janine address the finalists.

 

“So here we are, the final! It’s been a long twelve weeks but the end is in sight. In just two days’ time you can let your friends and family out of the cages and let them know that you no longer need their services as test subjects.”

 

“You’ve made cakes, pies, biscuits and patisserie. What could possibly be left?”

 

“Well it’s the final episode…a time for reflection, a time for looking back…”

 

“So this week’s theme is… RETRO! All those desserts that are too unfashionable to grace the dinner table are coming back into style here in the tent. Mrs. Hudson’s off to put her hot pants on and Sherlock’s gagging to get into his John Travolta trousers…”

 

“And while they do that you can get started on your Signature Challenge. The dish you’re being asked to make is… a modern update on the Black Forest Gateau. Any version of it any way you like. You’ve got three hours.”

 

“Ready.”

 

“Set.”

 

“BAKE!”

 

 

\--

 

 

It’s not a good day for John. His Black Forest Tarts are nice, but nothing special, and he is at a disadvantage in the technical because he’s the only not to have made Floating Islands before. Sherlock is hardly impartial, but the chances of him winning are looking unlikely.

 

He doesn’t look upset, but there is a slightly resigned slump to his shoulders as he cleans his workbench at the end of the day.

 

Sherlock glances around and finds that no one is paying him any attention. The cameras are packing up, Jim is staring at his tablet, Molly is talking to Mary and Janine, and Greg is clutching a hot drink like it’s his only hope of survival.

 

Sherlock goes over to John.

 

“You’ve still got tomorrow, it’s not impossible.”

 

John looks amazed at these words and Sherlock is puzzled by it. As encouragement goes, his was pretty bland, yet you’d think John had just been given a magic scroll with the spell for success on.

 

“You wouldn’t have said that to them,” John all but accuses, pointing at Greg and Molly.

 

Sherlock shrugs, but they both know it’s true.

 

“For the record, I wouldn’t have invited them to 221b _‘anytime’_ either,” he says softly.

 

Again, this seems to floor John. He clears his throat.

 

“How’s the beehive?”

 

“The candy shell worked perfectly. You… bring out the best in my work.”

 

Sherlock turns and heads over to Mrs. Hudson before anyone can register their strangely intimate little conversation.

 

 

\--

 

 

The knock on the door comes at one in the morning.

 

John is outside and Sherlock wordlessly invites him into the room. He’d actually been asleep and he feels strangely embarrassed about that.

 

They stand facing each other, John a little too close and Sherlock looming down, like they are in a battle for dominance in which they are both somehow winning.

 

“I know today was a disaster,” John begins.

 

Sherlock blinks. John’s eyes are bright and he’s smiling. He looks like he’s had some sort of revelation and needs to tell someone, anyone, at once. Sherlock understands that emotion: he never normally has someone to go to when it happens to him.

 

“I’m not going to win.”

 

“Probably not,” Sherlock agrees.

 

“But that’s fine,” John continues. “It was never about winning. It was just… something to do. And then yesterday when you gave me encouragement-“

 

He trails off. Suddenly he looks more awake, as if the certainty he feels is fading. He breaks the eye contact, looking over at the rumpled bed and at Sherlock’s bare chest.

 

He steps backwards.

 

“Sorry. You were, uh, sleeping-”

 

“Mrs. Hudson is quitting,” Sherlock says quickly. “I’m not coming back next year.”

 

He wills John to understand what he means, to take the leap of faith…

 

“So,” John swallows. “I’m already going to lose, and by tomorrow you won’t be a judge anymore?”

 

Sherlock nods. “So if you came here to- to take a _romantic opportunity_ , then-“

 

John’s lips interrupt the rest of the sentence. It’s a warm kiss, and it feels both strange and wonderful to have someone entwine their arms around him. When they finally drift apart they smile at each other for a few foolish moments, before Sherlock collects himself.

“Bed?” he asks. Not so much an invitation as a statement of its presence.

 

John takes the lead and crawls under the covers, into the spot Sherlock has not long vacated. Sherlock switches off the lamp and when he climbs in the space next to John is already warm. For a while they face each other and experiment with kisses, settling only when their tiredness creeps back up on them.

 

Even then Sherlock watches John in the darkness, eyes blinking slowly as he fights to stay awake.

 

“What do you want to do?” John asks.

 

The part of Sherlock that’s still tired demands to go back to sleep, and the rest of his body is screaming to kiss again, to do that and more…

 

But it’s his brain, as always, that wins.

 

“Talk,” he murmurs. “I want to talk.”

 

 

\--

 

 

“Why did you enter the Bake Off?” he asks.

 

They’re on their backs now. Sherlock can feel John’s presence next to him, his skin and the softness of his T-Shirt against his side. For the moment they are just two voices in the dark.

 

He’s wondered this many times. John is not a traditional baker and seems to have taken it up quite late in life. He doesn’t seem to have anything to gain from winning, not even family bragging rights.

 

John sighs. “For the same reason I started baking. Something to do. After I came back from Afghanistan my therapist made me keep a blog, and after six months of one line entries she made me take up a hobby _. ‘Pick a project’_ she said. _‘Anything. Just see it through to the end and write your experiences down.’_ And what else could I do? I wasn’t physically up to much, didn’t have a lot of money… but I got home and there on the shelf, the only thing on the shelf, was Martha Hudson’s _‘How To Bake’_ recipe book. My mother gave it to me on the day she sent me off to Uni. It was the last thing she ever gave me and I realised I’d never even opened it, let alone used it. So it became my project: one recipe a week for a year. It actually worked… I had to get out and meet people just to foist the damn food off onto them. And then I heard about this show and that Mrs. Hudson was actually the judge… so I signed up.”

 

Sherlock bites his lip. He wants to seize John’s shoulders and tell him how amazing he is, how much talent he has, based on so little experience. How he, with incredible scientific knowledge and experimental zeal can’t match that innate ability…

 

“What about you?” John asks. “When did you start baking? At _birth_ I imagine.”

 

Sherlock laughs at this idea. “Seven years ago.”

 

He actually feels John’s head move to stare at him in the darkness and he can understand his surprise: no one outside of Sherlock’s close acquaintance knows that fact.

 

“Seven years?!”

 

“I was at a loose end, like yourself. I needed focus and baking was only thing anyone would trust me to do on my own. Plus there was always the hope that I might accidentally poison my brother.”

 

He feels John huff with amusement. “And what was your brother doing to annoy you so much?”

 

“Preventing me from accessing cocaine.”

 

And there’s the other fact that isn’t currently gracing the ‘About the Judges’ section of the website. He isn’t ashamed of his past, the cocaine was the logical solution to his problems at the time, but he doesn’t want John to think badly of him.

 

“My mind needs focus, a-a track to run on. For a while the cocaine worked.”

 

Sherlock hears John swallow next to him.

 

“Do you ever-?“

 

The question hangs in the air, Sherlock doesn’t need John to elaborate.

 

“Do I ever want to go back to it? Of course. But as I can’t go back, baking is as good an outlet as any other.”

 

He wants John to say something, anything. He’s a doctor. His opinion of cocaine is hardly going to be positive…

 

“God,” John sighs. “Who’d have thought it would take a baking competition to find someone messed up as me?”

 

Sherlock turns to look at John, he can just see his face in the darkness, and under the covers he feels John’s hand close around his own.

 

 

\---

 

 

"So here we are..." Janine intones.

 

"...the final," says Mary.

 

"It's the big one."

 

"After this you can go home and - after twelve weeks of constant sugar - get the treatment for diabetes you so desperately need."

 

"This dish was made popular by Mrs. Hudson back in the seventies and has been a retro favourite ever since. It has inspired generations of bakers to throw their hands up and shout _'Ice cream in the oven? Nothing makes sense anymore!'_ "

 

"It needs no introduction, it is, of course, the Baked Alaska!"

 

"You have three hours to make a Baked Alaska. The only stipulation is that is must be shaped like something else. Anything else."

 

"A house. A Panda. A sculpture of me..."

 

"And just to put the cherry on the bake... it's the hottest day of the year so far and we're in a tent without air-conditioning."

 

"So good luck and for the last time: Ready-"

 

"-Set-"

 

"BAKE!"

 

 

\--

 

 

It's sweltering. Though it's not impossible to rig up an air conditioning unit inside, the noise would interfere with the recording.

 

Jim looks gleeful - high temperatures mean raised tempers, errors of judgement, and disasters waiting to happen.

 

Once again, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson don't have a great deal to do. They wander around and Sherlock plays his usual mind-games, causing Molly (making a snowman shaped Baked Alaska with a carrot cake base and white chocolate flavoured ice-cream) to question her flavours and making Greg well aware that his methodology is seriously flawed and will melt without Sherlock's superior knowledge (which, of course, he isn't allowed to give.)

 

The tent is in chaos. While there are technically only three bakers, two presenters, and two judges at work in quite a spacious tent there are also eleven crew-members jostling around each other with cameras and equipment, not to mention Jim bossing around his trio of minions.

 

An electrical fault has knocked out two cameras at the most critical moment of ice-cream making and the crew are just as stressed as the contestants. A loud argument begins between Jim and the electrician.

 

Mrs. Hudson has gone to powder her nose and Sherlock should be outside discussing the problems he thinks the bakers are going to have, but with the sudden shortage of cameras that has been put on hold until things calm down.

 

He's leaning against the sideboard watching the chaos. It's only by total chance that he's looking at the freezer when one of the minions boldly walks up to it, takes out one of the bowls of ice-cream, places it on the side, and heads back over to try and calm Jim down.

 

It takes about five seconds for Sherlock to work out what is happening.

 

That bowl is Molly's. When it's found it's going to look like either John or Greg took it out and left it to melt. There is no way that the production team will be accused, not with the multiple threats they receive about interference on a daily basis. At best it will look like selfish carelessness, forgetting to put it back as they tried to fit their own in the small space. At worst it will look like sabotage.

 

It will all be cleverly edited and Jim would be a fool if he didn't make John look mildly guilty. John's already had one bad day in the tent. With just one out of place shot of John looking nervously at the freezer, the public will believe he purposely destroyed Molly's showstopper.

 

On the sixth second Sherlock is moving. Jim has surely organised this confusion to take attention away from the freezer for just long enough to sabotage the ice-cream.

He can't put the ice-cream back in the freezer. It's a small freezer and getting three bowls in has been a balancing act for the contestants. There's not enough time for him to carefully fit it in.

 

He has to exchange the bowl for John's.

 

He looks over uncomfortably at John, who is working hard, oblivious to the fact that the man he shared a bed with last night is about to put the nail in the coffin on his chances of winning this competition.

 

But neither of the others will be accused of sabotage - not when John already has low chances of winning - and it will look like an accident or a mistake. Jim will believe his lackey messed up and took the wrong bowl out.

Two seconds later, he's switched them and slipped back to his place at the side, joined at once by Mrs. Hudson.

 

"Anything interesting happened?" she asks.

 

"With Jim around?" Sherlock raises a brow. "Of course."

 

He's counting. Forty seconds will be enough time for him to suddenly notice the ice-cream bowl and go and investigate for the benefit of the cameras. Forty seconds in this heat will probably destroy the ice-cream, but it will give John a chance...

 

He stalks over to the left-out bowl and stares at the virtually liquid contents.

 

"John? Is this mess yours?"

 

 

\--

 

 

John is BRILLIANT.

He's not going to win, of course, but he's going down fighting (in his place, Sherlock can think of at least five things he could do to win, but John's not as technically skilled as he is.)

 

The ice-cream is as good as finished, but (as Janine's voice over will no doubt witter to the viewers) the good old British Bake Off spirit remains.

 

For the ten minutes after the disaster, Molly and Greg forget that they are competing against John and rally in his support.

 

"You still have the base and the meringue, mate," Greg claps John on the back. "You can do this! There's a whole field of people out there wanting ice-cream!"

 

This is true. To make the Bake additionally stressful, the final is judged in the grounds outside, made up to look like a fete. Even as they stand around the gloopy mess of ice-cream, the competitors John has already beaten are arriving to watch the winner announced.

 

"Yeah," John says glumly. "I knew I wasn't going to win. But I can still serve up something."

 

"I made some extra ice-cream," Molly says awkwardly. "It won't count at the judging, but at least you can present an actual Baked Alaska with ice-cream..."

 

White chocolate ice-cream will taste revolting with John's lime flavoured sponge and Sherlock hopes he's smart enough to say 'no'.

 

But John, brilliant John, is already one step ahead.

 

"That'll be great, thanks Molly. Greg... I know you're dying of cold, but how much of that Manuka Honey can you spare? And can I steal a lemon from someone?"

 

Honey, Lemon, and Lime with white chocolate. It might just taste bearable.

 

"Oh the poor boy," Mrs. Hudson frets. "How on earth did it all happen?"

 

Sherlock glances warily at Jim, who is looking particularly tense.

 

"I think we all got distracted, Mrs. Hudson."

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Two hours later and it’s all over. The Baked Alaskas have been eaten by the crowd of friends, family, and former contestants. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson have been filmed making their decisions: all that’s left is to set up the announcement of the winner.

 

This being television, there’s plenty of time to kill before that happens. There’s a party atmosphere and with a coconut shy and other games. It actually feels like a fete.

 

Everyone wants to talk to him and yet once again he’s frustrated by the rules that Mrs. Hudson and he mustn’t talk to the contestants until after the announcements. The same rule doesn’t apply for their families and Sherlock has some difficulty extracting himself from the presence of Greg’s mother, a woman determined to find out how her son has done by any method including bribery and something she clearly believes are feminine wiles.

 

Mary – lovely Mary _-_ rescues him. Then undoes her good work by mocking his reaction to Mrs. Lestrade.

 

Sherlock changes the subject.

 

“That favour Jim wanted you to do-“ he says, lowering his voice and glancing to make sure they are not in shot of the cameras. “What was it?”

 

Mary’s smile tightens. “It wasn’t anything-“

 

“ _Mary.”_

 

He already knows, but he needs her to say it. He needs some sort of verification of his suspicions.

 

She crosses her arms.

 

“It sounds a lot worse than it is. Jim… encouraged me… to _consider_ dating John. That was all it was. I was already interested and he said it would be doing him a favour if I did. But I swear it didn’t go anywhere, we weren’t- there wasn’t any-“

 

She breathes out slowly, before starting again. “I think Jim was worried about this year’s ratings, with us going over to BBC1, and if John and I hit it off there’d probably be some stories…”

 

“Which would help your career,” Sherlock finishes.

 

Mary glares. “Oh shut up Sherlock. It would take a sledgehammer to my career. But if John and I had hit it off it wouldn’t have mattered.”

 

She sniffs.

 

“Besides, one night chatting in a Travelodge is hardly a scandal, even by the Daily Mail’s standards. Nothing happened. Nothing’s going to happen.”

 

Never a truer word spoken, Sherlock privately agrees.

 

“It’s fine,” he says, catching sight of Jim across the field. “I was just curious. Excuse me.”

 

Mary already forgotten, he weaves his way through the people trying to talk to him, and is quickly at Jim’s side.

 

“Get back into the crowd,” Jim snaps, waving Sherlock away. “You’re supposed it be in front of the cameras.”

 

“Well Molly’s ice-cream was supposed to be in the freezer, yet you didn’t seem bothered about breaking that rule.”

 

Jim’s expression is suddenly threatening. His eyes darken and he sneers, looking strangely threatening for a man standing in a field while all around him people are laughing and playing games.

 

“So it _was_ you who swapped it for John’s.”

 

“I wanted to avoid a potentially large scandal for the programme,” Sherlock shrugs. “No one would be accused of sabotaging John’s ice-cream.”

 

“It’s not your job to avoid scandal. It’s my job to create it.”

 

“It would certainly end the series with a bang,” Sherlock sneers. “With a few edited shots you could pin the blame on John, and you even tried to work it so that Mary would be implicated.”

 

Jim shrugs, not bothering to hide it. “The articles about their relationship would have surfaced about halfway through the run next year, then I’d sit back and let the nation play Ice-Cream Detective. Throw in Mrs. Hudson’s shock announcement that she’s leaving and the final would have been the most talked about, tweeted, and debated show of the year. We’d hire new judges, new presenters, and the first episode next year would have been the highest rated ever.”

 

He shrugs. “But you messed it all up by deciding to play Ice Cream Detective yourself.”

 

“You’d have turned John into a hate figure,” Sherlock points out.

 

“You are loyal, aren’t you? I should have asked _you_ to get in his pants…. it’s just a Baked Alaska. No one becomes a hate figure over a _Baked Alaska_.” Jim tilts his head as if stretching out a kink. “Besides, do you know how boring this show is to make? I stand around listening to people talk flaky pastry and yeast for _weeks_ and then at the end of it all they don’t even win anything. At least on a talent show I could tell them how utterly vile they are.”

 

He smirks. “And, in fact, I have been offered my own talent show. On ITV. Just a little thing, nothing to worry Simon Cowell. Not yet, anyway. So yes, bye-bye soggy-bottoms and custard tarts. And thank _god._ ”

 

“You’re leaving?”

 

“I’m leaving. Mrs. Hudson’s leaving. You’re leaving. Mary will probably quit after I make her little fling known to the public, and Janine does what Mary tells her. This is a sinking ship.”

 

Sherlock narrows his eyes. “Yes, and you’re the first rat to jump.”

 

He turns and stalks away trying not to look as out of sorts as he feels. It’s just a stupid show about baking. It doesn’t matter really. He still has 221b, he still has John, or at least the possibility of John. And what will he miss, really? He and Mary get on better in front of the cameras than behind them and Janine drives him up the wall.

 

Better for it all to end now.

 

But in the crowd around him there are over a hundred people all debating the merits of different Baked Alaskas and they all care what he thinks. They acknowledge him as the best and for a short period every year he gets paid to be judgemental and snarky. As Mycroft said at the beginning: “I’m surprised you didn’t offer to do it for free.” Speaking of free, the money doesn’t hurt either. It’s the only income he has that his brother doesn’t control (annoyingly, Mycroft thinks Sherlock shouldn’t be trusted with the actual business of 221b.)

 

“Oi! Sherlock!”

 

Graceful as ever, Janine has chosen to attract his attention by yelling across the field at him.

 

“We’re ready to start!”

 

She waves one of the enormous bouquets of flowers that she and Mary are about to bestow upon the runners up. The next ten minutes are spent being put in position and having Jim reiterate the order in which the announcements will be made while sneering every time Sherlock catches his eye.

 

John is standing with the other two. Sherlock can tell he’s out of his comfort zone because he’s almost at parade rest. He catches Sherlock eye for a second and shrugs his shoulder fractionally as if to say ‘ _bring it on._ ’

 

When it’s all over he can actually go and talk to John…

 

“So it’s been quite a competition!” Janine begins. “I don’t want it to end.”

 

“Me neither,” Mary adds. “But I’m starting to suspect that ‘food eaten in the Bake Off tent has no calories’ might be a lie.”

 

“I’ll be lucky if my girdle makes it to the end of the day…”

 

“Anyway! It’s time for the results of the Great British Bake Off 2014.”

 

“We think you’re all winners…”

 

“…but I’m afraid two and you… _aren’t_.”

 

“So here goes…”

 

Janine looks down at the card as if she needs help remembering the order of three names.

 

“The person is third place is… John.”

 

The crowd boos at the unfairness but John merely shrugs, having already expected it. Sherlock only just manages to drag his attention back to the announcement.

 

“And so it’s down to Molly and Greg,” Mary intones. “And the winner is…”

 

There’s a pause long enough for half the nation to make a cup of tea.

 

“MOLLY!”

 

At once the place erupts into cheers and hugs. John and Greg go in for a group hug with Molly, who is crying and looking astonished. Mary and Janine seem to have a hugs for everyone.

 

Sherlock is not a hugger – at least not in front of an enormous audience – but he shakes John’s hand for far too long. Amid the noise they almost have a private moment.

 

“I know you took the ice-cream out,” John says.

 

Sherlock feels his stomach drop.

 

“I- yes. I did.”

 

What else can he say?

 

“Did you have a good reason?”

 

Sherlock nods.

 

“Do you want to tell me over dinner tonight?”

 

Sherlock never gets a chance to reply, though he’s sure his surprised and delighted smile answers for him.

 

“And now we have one final announcement!” Janine practically yells over the hubbub. “Over to you Mrs. Hudson!”

 

The crowd quiets down and there is a long pause as the cameras go back into position.

 

“It’s been the most wonderful series…” Mrs. Hudson says, dabbing at her eyes. “But I’m afraid it’s time to move on, my dears. I think it’s best to end on a high note, so I’m saying goodbye to you all…”

 

The crowd is silent with horror.

 

For the first time, everything is clear in Sherlock’s mind.

 

Jim’s right, it’s a silly TV series about yeast and pies, but it’s fun. It might not last long, the ratings might go down, but he’s going to be OK. He’s met John, he’ll be able to spend hours with him, _days_ …

 

Why not enjoy the fun while it lasts?

 

“Mrs. Hudson may be leaving us,” he announces, “but the Bake Off goes on. No one can replace Mrs. Hudson but as this show proves, there are many excellent bakers in Britain and at least one of them will be ready to try. And, of course _I’ll_ be back next year.”

 

“And us!” Janine yells.

 

Mary nods along, ready to wrap the announcement up.

 

“That’s right. So on that bittersweet note… goodbye from the Great British Bake Off 2014!”

 

 

\--

**Article from the Radio Times**

2015

 

And so, as another wet summer draws to a close, Bake Off is back and this year we're assured that soggy bottoms are all the contestants will have to worry about.

 

Bake Off’s recipe for success has always been its consistency: viewers complained last year at the show's drama on and off the cameras. For a series that has always implicitly promised to never change, the ice-cream meltdown, relationship rumours, and shock resignations were more than many viewers could handle.

 

After our sneak peak of the first episode we can reassure you that this series is back to the Bake Off we know and love. Mary and Janine's jokes are - as always - just this side of tasteful (there are a lot of cries of 'stroke it harder!' this week), the technical challenge raises the familiar cry of _'isn't it easier to just buy them in the shops?'_ and new judge (last year's winner and viewer favourite) Molly Hooper fits seamlessly into the Mrs. Hudson's shoes.

 

As it should be, she provides a friendly, pastel-coloured countenance to Sherlock's terrifying glare, but don't be fooled into thinking she's the baking world's Zooey Deschanel: the former morgue assistant wields the cake knife like a scalpel and she's more than a little firm over one baker's lackadaisical approach to measurements.

 

Even the eternally uptight Sherlock seems more at ease this year. After raising eyebrows about his relationship with John Watson (rumours abound that John has gained a new home and a new job with Sherlock) he's more at relaxed in the tent. He plays the poker-faced straight-man role against Molly's teasing banter, but this time around there's definitely a hint of a smile.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. I'm just sad it's all over! 
> 
> As a side note I realised I've misremembered how the winner is announced, but when I wrote it I hadn't seen a Bake Off Final in over a year. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it, and if you have comments I'd love to hear them.


End file.
